“Let the redeemed tell their story.” ~ Psalm 107:2-3
When the prison gates swung open, Josef stepped back into
sunlight for the first time as a free man. Twenty years ago, in a moment of
blind rage, he’d taken his friend’s life. The same little boy who’d later
testify against him, had watched from the hallway.
Prison broke Josef
before it rebuilt him. He surrendered what was left of his pride and slowly
became someone new. He studied Scripture, led Bible studies, and sat beside
dying inmates who longed for redemption.
Across the street,
a young man watched with an icy stare. Ryan hadn’t forgiven, or healed, since
the day that ‘preacher’ ended his father’s
life. Now, there he was hugging strangers, praying over addicts, and blessing
babies.
“How can a murderer preach
God’s Word?” Ryan muttered through clenched teeth.
Josef lifted his
eyes toward heaven just as a single gunshot shattered the air. The crowd
scattered. Pain tore through Josef’s leg as he collapsed to the ground. Ryan
pushed through the chaos and stood over him. “Remember me?”
Recognition struck
Josef like a second bullet. “Ryan,” he stammered. “I… I’m so sorry. I’ve waited twenty
years to say that. I can’t bring your Dad back, but I’ll accept whatever comes
next.”
“Apology
not accepted,” Ryan snarled. “I was only seven!” Memories flooded
him - the funeral, his mother’s tears, therapy never finished. Josef didn’t
beg. He didn’t plead. He simply waited as sirens screamed closer.
“PUT THE GUN DOWN!” police shouted. Ryan
turned toward them, gun still raised. They fired. He collapsed to the pavement.
Death came instantly.
Josef woke the next
day to a throbbing leg. A nurse entered his hospital room. “Visitor for
you.”
Ryan’s mother
entered quietly, her face worn with sorrow. She sat beside Josef’s bed for a
long moment before speaking. “I never forgave you,” she whispered. “That
day, I lost two men, my husband… and now my son.” She continued as tears spilled from
her eyes. “I don’t know if I’ll ever forgive you completely. But hate has
taken enough from me already.”
They sat in
silence, bound by a grief too heavy for words.
Months later,
Josef returned to the streets, limping heavily. His voice softer now; he no
longer relied on noise to be heard. Instead, he told stories - his own story.
He didn’t demand forgiveness; he lived what it meant to bear consequences and
still choose love.
The weight of his
past never left him. But he carried it differently now - not with shame, but
with purpose. He'd found redemption
from God. And slowly… from himself.
